Paint Me a Cigarette
by Savoir Faire
Summary: “You really never cease to amaze me, Potter. Never.” A story of reminiscing, tea, the importance of miniscule details, and orange flavoured cigarettes. Dedicated to Prince Edwin, SilverWolf7007, and of course, ferretfan4eva.
1. An Opinion, Mr Jenkins? It's Off White!

**Title: **Paint Me a Cigarette

**Author: **Savoir Faire

**Summary: **A story of reminiscing, tea, the importance of miniscule details, and orange flavoured cigarettes

**Warning: **Randomness inspired by Peel (a brand of smokes), total disregard of the sixth book

**Disclaimers: **If I owned Harry Potter, people would kiss _my _feet, not JK Rowling's.

Dedicated to **Prince Edwin **and **SilverWolf7007**, for their peerless works of inspirational humour and writing prowess (Couldn't Catch A Cold and Harry's Insanity, respectively). A toast to you both, and to my good friend and fellow author, **ferretfan4eva**, who unfortunately, is somewhat perturbed by her classes into near lunacy. Fret not, dear friend. When the sixth month of the year comes, I shall have to undergo the same horrors as you. I hope this will alleviate your worries, and delay your madness until I am able to join you. With love, Savoir Faire.

* * *

"_There's something incredibly wrong with this painting." _

"_Oh?"_

"_You said you would be in it." _

"_Hmm, I did, didn't I? Maybe I am. You of all people should know that some things aren't always what they seem."_

"_Hmph._ _You never cease to amaze me, Potter."_

"_Bullocks."_

"_Much as I loathe admitting it, but you do. In fact, you do more than anyone else." _

"_And let me guess, that bothers you, doesn't it?" _

"_Hmm, quite."_

"_Cigarette?"_

"_Don't mind if I do." _

"_I wouldn't be proffering a whole pack to you if I did." _

"_Hah. Hmm, orange flavoured." _

"_With a hint of mint, mind you." _

"_Ah, yes…"_

"_Yes, what…?"_

"_You really never cease to amaze me, Potter. **Never**."

* * *

_

**An Opinion, Mr Jenkins? It's Off White!**

**- or -**

**Come To Think Of It, We Don't Mind If It's Still Covered**

Draco Malfoy was never really one to dwell in the past. He certainly loathed thinking about his own. It pained him to look back, to reminisce, and even to just remember what colour of ink he used to write in brought back devastating memories. He had an imaginative mind, and when he had time for a break he would often busy himself with something other than sitting idly, for in the briefest of moments where his brain wasn't using its full thinking capacity, it would absently wander off somewhere, and usually, it was somewhere off in the past. He had learned to deal with this dilemma by filling his head with what he had to do for the day, or for the next hour, at least, and then run over his mental list over again before exercising his magical powers by wordlessly conjuring either a tall glass of juice or a cup of tea (during mornings and afternoons, respectively).

Today, however, was different.

He wasn't sitting in front of his enormous oak desk as he did Monday thru Thursday. And he certainly wasn't enjoying a quiet reread of his favourite book as he usually did during Fridays. And no, he wasn't in his home in Paris. Today was a Wednesday; he only went to France during lazy Saturdays, and it was back to dreary old England again by the afternoon of the next day for what he preferred to call as his 'gloomy Sundays'.

Today, he would be seeing again, for the first time in many years, a painting he had criticised well over ten years ago.

"Mr Malfoy, sir?"

"Well?"

"What do you think, sir?"

Draco huffed, annoyance already tugging at his patience. He looked at the man who stood a little behind him through the corner of his eyes, and promptly raised an eyebrow. "What do you expect me to say about something that's still covered in a white sheet? Or perhaps you need my opinion regarding this—" he slightly shivered in disgust, "off white piece of—" he sighed. The man, Joaquin, was already too shaken out of his wits to even understand a word he had said. "You may leave, Mr Jenkins. Thank you." He waved him off in a quieter tone.

"Ye…yes, sir. Good—good day, Mr Malfoy, sir."

Hearing the heavy doors close after the man, he let himself relax and promptly sat himself down on a nearby chair. He breathed evenly, forcing his nerves to calm down. Joaquin Jenkins was an idiot. He was honest, yes, very much so that it was what made him keep his job as curator, but he was a very forgetful man, more so when he was anxious or nervous about something. Draco could think of only two reasons as to why the thirty-four year old seemed off (more than he usually was): a.) he was in charge of safekeeping one of the Wizarding World's greatest artefacts, and b.) he was letting one of the most powerful men in the Wizarding World see the painting before the whole world did… and that, was supposedly not allowed. But of course, Draco Malfoy wasn't Draco Malfoy for nothing.

Suddenly the door opened, and heeled shoes gently clicked against the pristine marble floor.

"Granger, what are you doing here?" He closed his eyes. Who else but a member of the Gryffindor Trio would be present?

"I'm making use of your, hmm, advantages as a Malfoy to see the painting."

"That actually crossed my mind, but the idea of _you_, a Gryffindor, actually taking advantage of someone for your own intentions seemed most unlikely."

Hermione Granger laughed, and sat herself down on the chair opposite his. "Unlikely indeed, Malfoy, only if this was ten years ago."

Silence.

He wanted to say something, anything to break the awkwardness. But of course, for someone used to decking out insults to a Gryffindor, he only had scathing remarks to say. One look at her, however, and he could tell that she clearly wasn't in the mood for a fight, verbal or otherwise. He saw the anxiety in her posture, the pain and remorse in her eyes. She looked like she, if anything else, wanted to be somewhere else. Draco closed his eyes, leaning back and letting his head rest against the soft comfort of the chair. Being here was something unexpected of him—of them both.

Hermione Granger had been best friends with Harry Potter, no question about that. But she had also loved him as a brother, and, to the utmost horror of the entire Hogwarts' population, and naturally, the rest of the Wizarding World, nearly killed him in an accident in their last year. It was a laughing matter to most Slytherins, that little incident was. Who knew a cock-up in Potions could have finished off the Dark Lord's nemesis like no other curse could do? But… it was only something to snigger about back then, when they still had the attitude of the prepubescent. During the few moments when he _actually_ allowed himself to look back at those times, he realised that if Harry Potter did die, he wouldn't have had the chance to know that the boy was, indeed, not so different from the rest of them after all. That and it clearly would have changed the way things were. Draco was unsure where or what he would be now; a Death Eater, most probably. But one thing was sure if Harry Potter had been buried six feet under the ground earlier than destined: Granger most certainly wouldn't be here either. She would have cursed herself to death, no doubt. Somehow (seeing that _if _he had indeed followed in his father's footsteps, he would have been killed too), he found a bit of comfort in the fact that he did have someone who shared his sentiments other than The Boy Who Lived himself. He opened his eyes when he felt a stare directed at him.

"Well?"

"Well, what, Malfoy?"

"Are we going to unveil it or not?"

She bit her lower lip, and for the first time in the seven years that Draco spent as her schoolmate, looked as if she was unsure of what to say. He understood her, really he did. Being here was something, but seeing the painting—Harry Potter's first work of coloured art (as he had a trunk full of sketches in charcoal), and, unfortunately his last—was an entirely different matter, and for different reasons for the both of them. It would pain her to see it because it had been finished the night before his near-death accident, and just mere days before the penultimate battle began…

And as for himself…

"No. Well at least, not yet. I'd rather sit here and think for a while."

He nodded, a bit relieved. Because for him, seeing it would bring back memories of the very same evening that he and Harry Potter finally did become friends. The very same evening that he would, for the first time, see Harry smile a real, perfect smile. Unbeknownst to the both of them at that time, it would be one of Harry's last…

Suddenly Draco felt the urge to pull out a cigarette. But seeing that the dead don't just come back to life to comfort the living (even if he _was_ once the almost imperishable Boy Who Lived) by proffering a box, or at least two or three sticks of said cigarettes… He gave a sigh and conjured what he never thought he would conjure for a Gryffindor.

"Thank you, Malfoy."

He simply nodded and took a sip from his own cup of tea.

To be continued… quite obviously.

* * *

**Author's note: **I have yet to decide whether implied slash would be incorporated into this, so to HPDM slash fans, a thousand apologies. 


	2. The Best Way To Gain Enlightenment

"_It was just a stick, 'Mione."_

"_Yes, and then the next time it could be two! And then who knows? If you don't stop you'll get addicted, and later on spend your evenings with Malfoy in the Astronomy Tower thinking what went wrong between your nonexistent friendship while taking turns taking a drag!"_

_A blank stare, then: "How did you find out?" _

"_Excuse me?" _

"_Malfoy and I **did** spend an evening in the Astronomy Tower." _

"_See? One stick and it has already addled your thinking." _

"_Don't be silly, Hermione." _

"_Me… silly…? Harry James Potter, I've been anything but!" _

_A half-hearted sigh, silence, a chuckle, then: "You're wrong, Hermione. We didn't discuss what went wrong in our, as you say, nonexistent friendship." _

"_So… you did actually talk to Malfoy?"_

"_Yes."_

"_And…?"_

"_He asked me to paint for him. I was sketching when he literally sauntered in. It was surprising, really. He strolled in, I looked up, he raised an eyebrow, I nodded at him in greeting, and then… he just walked right up to me and asked if he can see what I was doing. I held up my sketch… it was, as he said, nicely done. Every detail was done perfectly, the contours were outlined the way they should be, and the shading was exact. He told me it was realistic and true to life, and thanked me for being one to appreciate the importance of miniscule details. And as I told you a few seconds ago, he then asked me to paint for him after I said I could try when he asked me if I painted." _

"_And…?"_

"_I did. I even told him I'd be in it."_

"_And…?"_

"_Really, 'Mione, is that all you can say?" A pause, a sip of Pumpkin juice, then: "I painted him. And myself, of course. But he failed to connect with the inner workings of my mind. Obviously, he isn't as artistically inclined as some believe him to be. Or maybe it was **his** brain that was partly addled by the smoke. I gave him the whole box of cigarettes afterwards, when he seemed too preoccupied and bothered about my 'absence' in the painting. A pity actually, to think that one as cultured as Malfoy actually had a hard time understanding the beauty of symbolism."_

"_Harry, I'm surprised that you've actually talked to him…"_

"_Judging by your previous redundancy, I think we've already established that, Hermione." _

"_You never cease to amaze me, Harry." _

"_Funny, you sound like Malfoy there." _

"_Do I? Maybe one doesn't need smoke to addle one's brain after all."_

"_Haha, come on, let's go wake Ron before he fully misses breakfast and Potions." _

"_I'd think he'd rather skive off Potions, Harry. But he'll certainly throw a fit if he misses breakfast."_

_A nod, then: "Hermione?"_

"_Yes Harry?"_

"_About my friendship with a certain Slytherin…"_

"_What about it?"_

"_Maybe it's not so nonexistent after all."

* * *

_

**Apostrophising Is The Best Way To Gain Enlightenment, Or So Hermione Granger Thinks**

Hermione Granger was a person who, despite all her experiences, had very little, if not none, to regret in life. She was intelligent, resourceful, practical, and above all else, she was a fast learner; she did not dwell in past mistakes. No, she learned from them and tried to make amends as quickly as possible. And as such, she really was a person with few regrets, save for a few wrong choices in articles of clothing, particularly their colour… but that was during her awkward stage of pre-adulthood. And _that_ was certainly another story. But as mentioned, Hermione Granger had very little to regret in life.

And one particular thing she hated to look back on was how one particular conversation with Harry Potter had ended. She was his other best friend, his most sensitive companion, and certainly the more affable among the three of them. No doubt that Harry was, the more openly polite amongst the trio, but he also had his reservations about other people. He was a quiet observer, and though no one would ever guess it, he was right about most people most of the time. And despite his humility and humane views, he was also quite immature and, if anything else, a bit… well, lets just say he oftentimes gave in to his opinions. He had grown a bit more mature over the years though, mostly because of his experiences with different sorts of people and situations, and also because she was always there to try and convince him to think over his sentiments first before making an actual conclusion. 'Inference is good, but always find proof, Harry', she had told him once. He simply stared at her and asked her to translate in plain English.

'How I wish I had said something then, Harry. Perhaps then you could have replied something that could have made me listen to my own advice.'

Sighing as quietly as possible, she took a glance at the only person who bothered to see the painting firsthand. He had his eyes closed and his head tilted back, apparently trying to relax… and failing to do so. She didn't have to take a closer look to see that he was deep in thought. He folded his hands on his lap, but his feet tapped at the floor in an unconscious rhythm. It was almost as if he wanted to be elsewhere.

'Look who's talking.' She mentally berated herself. She really wanted to be here… why else would she be sitting in awkward silence waiting for Malfoy to unveil the painting? But then again, did she really want to see something that was painted by the very person she had committed her greatest mistake against? And just where is Ron? Sighing again, she stared at the off white sheet that was hastily thrown over Harry's masterpiece.

'Back to Harry, again, I suppose… so tell me, Harry, through some sign of enlightenment, why did you paint, Malfoy of all people? Yes, he asked you to paint for him, but was it absolutely necessary that _he _was the subject of your only coloured masterpiece? Up until now, I really don't comprehend most of your logic. But then again, who does? I remember you confessing to Ron and myself that you had difficulty understanding yourself at times too. But,' she stole another glance at Malfoy, 'tell me, _show_ me, please:, what exactly did you see in Malfoy? What made you befriend him, Harry? And why was he even the last person you talked to!? I wouldn't have been disappointed if you talked to Ron last, seeing that you two shared more time together… but, why? You even entrusted your last wish to him… and even up to now, no one else knows what it was.'

A whole minute had past. Still no 'sign of enlightenment'… she turned to Draco Malfoy.

'Well, he's handsome, I give him that, but you were never one to choose your friends because of their looks or physical attributes. If that was the case, it could have been Lavender Brown sitting here in my stead… Fame and fortune are out of the list, you have too much of that already, and he certainly has a more than ample amount of both for you to get along well… he's too smug for your liking—or for anyone else's for that matter. I can only give him kudos for his looks and his brain; he certainly is far from being shallow. Ambitious and highly opinionated, but never shallow… I do suppose you did sense something in him that we—I have yet to discover, hmm? I just hope I see it too, before—God forbid—I go 'completely nutters' as Ron used to call me.'

"Well?"

"Well, what, Malfoy?"

"Are we going to unveil it, or not?"

Was it just her, or did he seem unsure himself? Unconsciously, for the first time, Hermione Granger bit her lip in uncertainty. In the risk of being redundant, she asked herself again: did she really want to see something that was painted by the very person she had committed her greatest mistake against?

"No. Well at least, not yet. I'd rather sit here and think for a while."

'Good.' His whole countenance seemed to say.

She nearly smiled at his look of relief, and then at his sudden relapse into discomfort. Turning towards the general direction of the painting, she blinked in surprise at the cup of tea on the dainty little saucer floating before her. 'Hmm, I really do suppose there was—is something.'

"Thank you, Malfoy."

Smiling once more, she quietly reached for the saucer.

* * *

**Author's Note: **Third chapter is up next, my nonexistent readers. 


	3. Tea With A Bit More Sugar

**Tea With A Bit More Sugar**

**-or-**

**Conversing With The Living IS The Best Way To Gain Enlightenment**

"Well?"

"Well, what, Malfoy?"

"You're becoming redundant, Granger."

"I am, aren't I?"

"Yes, and I'm beginning to doubt your… health."

"I am not sick, Malfoy. And neither am I completely nor slightly nutters."

"Good to know I'm not spending tea time with a, ah, never mind."

"I do believe this is the first time you've stopped yourself from offending someone."

"So you're not just a master of redundancy, but of the obvious as well!"

"Oh, do shut up."

"I believe I won't."

"**Shut your trap, Malfoy or I'll guillotine you with my bare hands and feed your bleeding carcass to my cat!**"

Stunned silence, then: "More tea?"

'God help me!' An irritated sigh, then: "Yes please, and a bit more sugar, thank you."

"I like mine a little strong."

"Yes, I can see—taste that."

"Hmm."

Silence.

"How have you been, Granger?"

"I… I've been spending a year in Muggle London now."

"I see. Married?"

"No. I think I'll find time for marriage a bit later."

"Good, good. I've always thought you were one to focus more on your career. That is, of course, if you have one?"

"As a matter of fact, I do. I worked as an assistant to my father; he's a dentist."

"A what…?"

"A dentist… he takes care of people's teeth. Repairs them, straightens them, and, well, extracts them."

"What a gruesome profession!"

"It's not that bad, Malfoy. It's a high paying job. My mother is also dentist. So was her father."

"I see. You said 'worked'. What do you do now?"

"I'm a professor now, at Cambridge University. I also own a fairly large bookstore."

"Well then, congratulations, Professor Granger, on being quite successful."

"Err, thank you, Malfoy. And yourself?"

"I manage my family's business. And no, it has nothing to do with the Dark Arts. Despite the fact that my father was a Death Eater, he was also quite an entrepreneurial sort of man. My mother, though essentially as evil as he, insisted that we kept the outside of our closet clean, if you catch my drift."

A nod. "So what exactly is this family business of yours?"

"Running this museum and two others in France… As well as several Wizarding hotels in Asia and in the Caribbean, and a resort in Spain."

"Perhaps _you_ should congratulate _yourself_ as well?"

"No. I'll pass up the chance to gloat this time."

Hermione Granger blinked. "And I simply won't pass up the chance to ask 'why'. So why?"

"I'm doing something I never wanted to be a part of. Despite how I was in school, I've always had this… thirst for adventure. And apparently, sitting in a desk reading through and signing papers is not my idea of an adventure. I'll paraphrase you though: I know I'll find time and the right sort of adventure later. Or _it_ will find me."

"I never expected you to be so deep, Malfoy."

"And since when was I shallow?"

"I never said you were shallow. I just never saw you as deep."

One golden eyebrow shot up. "In plain English, please."

"Now you sound like Harry."

Silence.

"How disturbing."

More silence.

"He really did like you, Malfoy."

"I repeat: how disturbing."

"I didn't mean it in _that_ way."

"I was being dramatic, Granger."

Silence.

"Can I… ask you something, Malfoy?"

"If it makes you look less constipated."

A sigh, then: "…do you think that, even after such a long time, Harry would be able to forgive me?"

"For nearly killing him?"

"No… for… ever doubting him regarding certain issues."

"Am I to be corrected in an insulting way if I were to say 'issues regarding his choice of… then new friends'?"

"No."

"Good. Now let me ask you: was he the sort to hold a grudge? I mean against people who unintentionally caused him pain?"

"No."

"Then a 'yes, Granger, he would be able to forgive you' would be a plausible answer… however…"

"Stop pausing for effect, Malfoy. Just, tell me _please_."

"I paused to take a sip of my tea! Why are _you _asking _me _anyway? You knew him longer."

"Because I think, in a way, you knew him _better_."

"Oh. I… well then… that's…"

Silence.

"Well, what were you going to say?"

"I think he's already forgiven you, Granger."

"Hmm, that's funny…"

"What, pray tell, is?"

"Out of all the people to tell me that, you are the only one who made me actually believe that."

"I'm glad then, because he was your friend, and he certainly wouldn't want you to worry 'til the end of your days."

"Hmm…"

A sip of tea, then: "Granger, what makes you think I knew him better?"

"Harry… he was special because he wasn't so extraordinary after all. Sure, he had powers that far exceeded even that of Dumbledore's, and people knew him and looked up to him as Saviour of the Wizarding World, but they never saw anything else past the scar and the name: they never knew he had a big heart that had space for everybody, even those most of us usually never even cared about. That and they never knew he actually had many different sides to him. Aside from being an incredible Seeker and a top student in DADA, he was also an artist. And even though I was one of two best friends, I never could fully appreciate that side of him. Ron was just Ron. He was the one who had the heart for sports. I was the one who had a passion for books. And even though Harry often showed me his sketches, I knew that he only did so because he knew I'd be sensitive enough to give an honest opinion and not just say 'that's nice, mate'. No one saw much and understood that side of Harry, until you came along. And that made you understand him better, because you could appreciate him wholly as a person."

"I still wish I knew him longer."

"You had the chance. Everyday was a new day to start over. You just messed it up until _that _night. But…"

"Now look who's pausing for dramatic effect?"

"But I think you're timing was perfect."

"I try my best."

"**Be serious—**"

"No need to raise your voice, Granger. I know what you mean. I just don't want _my _museum flooded. Here, a tissue."

Silence.

"So shall we unveil it?"

"You know what, Malfoy? I came here to look at something, but instead I got something I've been looking for."

"Oh? And what's that?"

"Since you're so certain about my forgiveness… enlightenment."

"Ah. To what, I'll no longer ask… so I take it you'll wait until the 'world premiere'?"

"Yes. I'll see you then, I suppose?"

"My gods, Granger, attached already?"

"No. I just want to see more of the friend I just made."

Draco Malfoy, in an unexpected act of civility, held out his hand…

"Until then, _Hermione_."

Which Hermione Granger took without hesitation.

"Hmm, until then, _Draco_…"

"You don't seem ready to leave."

"I was just curious… about Harry's last wish."

"Ah… I suppose you want to know what it was."

"Yes… Err, no. Not anymore. If Harry wanted me to know, he most certainly would have told me."

"Good point. Well what about Harry's wish?"

"I just want to know if you've already gone about fulfilling it."

"I… haven't had the time, really."

"Oh."

"Well, well, what do you know…"

A fine eyebrow shot up. "What?"

"I'd never really thought anyone could make me feel ashamed of myself. I really ought to start 'fulfilling it', eh?"

"You should. After all, you were the one he told, thus giving you the responsibility to act on it."

"_Honour_, Hermione, not responsibility. We are talking about _The_ Harry Potter's last wish."

A laugh, another handshake, then: "I'll see you next week, then."

"Of course."

Clicking of heels.

"Oh, Hermione? If it's not a burden, could you, perhaps, bring a book about dentists?"

"Alright. Good day, Draco."

The wooden doors closed.

"Good day, _friend_."


	4. Epilogue

"_Oh, and Malfoy?_ _**Draco**, I mean." _

"_So we're on a first name basis now, eh?"_

"_Yes. Come to think of it, we always were, except we choose to be immature and failed to realise that, among many other things—"_

"_I have a feeling you're stalling. Scared Potter?" _

"_Hah! You wish, Malfoy."_

"_Haha, so what was it you wanted to say, **Harry**?"_

"_When this is over—"_

"_Yes, get on with it, man!"_

"_I would if you'd stop interfering! Anyway, when this is over, paint me a cigarette, would you **mate**?"_

"_Excuse me…?"_

"_A cigarette, Draco."_

"_Yeah," a pause, "Yeah, sure I will."

* * *

_

**Epilogue**

**-or-**

**Well What Do You Know?**

"Would you like more tea, Mr Malfoy?"

Draco Malfoy shook his head, both at the waiter and at himself. Perhaps thinking of the past wasn't as awful as it first seemed. He now realised that it was all a matter of finding the right sort of memories; those short and momentary ones that were neither too sweet nor too bitter were the best ones to think of. Leaving a galleon on the table as he finished off the remaining drops of his late afternoon tea, he stood up and stepped out unto the sidewalk. A stroll would be perfect at this time of day. But of course, he had to hurry. He had, after all, a painting to start working on. Laughing to himself, he took out a ten-year old cigarette, lit it, and revelled in the wonders of its well-preserved taste.

"Well what do you know?"

It was just exactly as he had preferred: orange-flavoured, and with a hint of mint, mind you.

Fin.

* * *

**Author's gratitude: **Goes to everyone who bothered to read this; even to those who just took a glance at the summary and found this to be not of their interest. To the ones who reviewed (and even to those who haven't… yet (I'm still hoping more people would stumble upon this, that or a reader would spread word) :wink, wink: ), a **thousand thank you's**. To my muse—my fiancé, the Harry Potter of my life—I LOVE YOU, I'll see you downstairs after I post this (sorry to keep you waiting, I hope the maids gave you something to drink). Now off I go before I become too mushy. I hate being so. 


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